Any Means Necessary
by GMTH
Summary: Dumbledore will do whatever is necessary to ensure Voldemort's defeat. Author's notes: Written for the Springtime Gen fest on LiveJournal. Some dialogue taken directly from the Harry Potter novels.


**June, 1980**

_Dear Severus, _

_There is a pressing matter we must discuss. Please come see me in my office as soon as possible. _

_Yours, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

"Sherbet lemon?"

Severus sneered. "No."

Chuckling, Dumbledore put the small bowl back down on his desk and gestured for Severus to take a seat. "Thank you for coming, Severus."

"I want to get this over with as quickly as possible, Headmaster," Severus said. He remained on his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'll get straight to the point, then. You heard?"

Severus blinked. Straight to the point, indeed.

"Yes."

Dumbledore nodded. "How much did you hear before the barman found you there?"

Severus frowned. He'd expected a sharp rebuke for eavesdropping, or perhaps a demand for an explanation about how he happened to be there in the first place. Anger, Severus understood; Dumbledore's calm tone made Severus far more nervous than his anger ever could.

"I... I suppose I heard everything," he said with a shrug. "The woman -- Sibyll, you called her?" Dumbledore nodded again. "She had just stopped speaking when that cretin grabbed me and pushed me against the door."

"I thought as much." Dumbledore stared at the far wall over the top of his steepled fingers. For a long moment neither spoke, neither moved. Severus's heart began to thud dully against his ribs.

With a sigh, Dumbledore sat back on his chair, his face now set lines of determination. "Very well. I must ask you, Severus, to keep silent about what you have heard."

"No." Severus's heart pounded faster. Was the old man finally going mad?

"Severus --"

"No, Headmaster. I won't." He turned and stalked over to the window. The sun, swollen and red, was setting the sky on fire behind the Whomping Willow. A painful reminder of another secret Dumbledore had insisted he keep. "I can't," he added in a hoarse whisper.

"You are in danger, then?"

Severus nodded, swallowing. "My friendship with Regulus Black has made the Dark Lord suspicious of me." He did not even attempt to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Damn the Blacks, all of them. The sons of that family had brought him nothing but trouble since the day he'd first set foot in Hogwarts.

"I see," Dumbledore said. "And now you want to earn back his trust by telling him about the conversation you overheard."

Severus whirled, his chest tight with a sudden burst of fury. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to do, Headmaster?" he snapped. "Earn the Dark Lord's trust? Isn't that what you told me to do almost a year ago?"

Dumbledore held up a placating hand. "Calm yourself, Severus. I am not complaining about your work. You've done splendidly this past year. I knew I was right to trust you with such an important job." He lowered his hand and gripped the arm of his chair. "And I certainly understand your desire to get back into Voldemort's good graces. In fact, I consider it vital. I will give you something else to take back to him, if you agree to keep your silence."

"Oh?" Severus quirked an eyebrow. "What is it this time?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. "More useless information about the Blacks' treatment of the family house-elves? Has Potter been betting on professional Quidditch again?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "No. Something of substance this time. I'm prepared to offer you the teaching post Voldemort had you ask me about."

Severus's heart leapt. "What? But last month you told me --"

"Professor Slughorn has just today informed me he will be retiring at the end of the school year. I would like you to take his place starting next September."

"Potions?" Despite himself, Severus could not keep the disappointment out of his voice. "But I asked to be appointed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Severus."

"I'm better qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Nonsense," Dumbledore replied, giving Severus a gentle smile. "Your marks in Potions were top-notch, if I recall correctly."

That much was true. Severus knew the subject well, better than Slughorn himself, of that he was sure. And it would certainly get him back into the Dark Lord's good graces, though just why he was so keen for Severus to be at Hogwarts Severus did not know. Still, it left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't really want to teach in the first place; being forced to teach a subject he had so little interest in felt almost like a punishment.

"You won't change your mind?"

"No," Dumbledore said again. "I'm afraid it's out of the question."

Severus sighed. "Very well, Headmaster," he said, trying to keep the resentment out of his tone. "I accept."

"Excellent." Dumbledore rose to his feet. "Now, just as a precaution, I should like you to do something else for me."

Severus's guards snapped back into place immediately. Dumbledore seemed to sense this as well, for he chuckled again. "Nothing drastic, I assure you," he said, stepping across to a glass-fronted cabinet. "I think it would be better, Severus, if you weren't carrying the memory of what you heard around in your head."

Dumbledore opened the cabinet and withdrew a stone basin, and Severus sighed. "Must I?" he asked, eyeing the Pensieve apprehensively. He'd only used a Pensieve on one other occasion, but the experience had been unnerving. It had made him distinctly uneasy to know the memory was stored elsewhere, out of his control, to have only a blank spot in his mind where the memory had been until he was able to retrieve it. "You don't trust my ability as an Occlumens?"

"Of course I do," Dumbledore said, cradling the Pensieve in one hand and using the other to wave away Severus's concern. "This is merely a precaution." He set the Pensieve on his desk next to the sweets dish. "Don't worry, Severus. I will keep it safe for you. And when the time is right, you will get it back."

Severus withdrew his wand. "You intend for the Dark Lord to know about the prophecy eventually, then?"

Dumbledore did not respond. Severus met Dumbledore's eye, and for the first time he noticed how tired the old man looked. How frail. A frisson of fear made him shiver. He hoped Dumbledore knew what he was doing. He hoped he wasn't making the worst mistake of his life.

Looking away, Severus pressed the wand tip to his temple and withdrew a long, shimmering strand.

* * *

**October, 1981**

_Severus, _

_The time has come for me to return the item you left in my possession. Please come to my office to retrieve it at your earliest convenience. _

_Yours, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

Severus uncorked the small bottle Dumbledore handed him and tipped it upside down over the Pensieve. The silver strand of memory oozed into the basin. Dumbledore sat back in his chair, watching him, and Severus glanced at him quickly before bending over the Pensieve and plunging his face inside. The world dropped out from under his feet as he fell through the icy-cold darkness, and then he landed on a worn, thread-bare carpet in a dimly-lit corridor lined with closed doors on both sides.

A floorboard squeaked, and Severus turned to see himself rounding the corner at the top of the stairs. He froze, licking his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. How odd to see one's self from the outside!

The Severus of the memory stepped around the creaky floorboard, pulling his robes close around his legs, and stopped at the first door on the right. He pressed his ear against it for a moment, then moved to the next door. Then the next. Severus followed him as he moved off down the hall. Two more doors, and still nothing. A few more steps down the corridor, and he heard the sound of a muffled conversation. A man's voice asking a question. A woman's voice answering.

Silently, the Severus of the memory hurried to the end of the corridor with Severus close at his heels. The other Severus seemed to be holding his breath as he pressed his ear against the door. Severus pressed his ear to the door as well, shivering at the surrealism of being nose-to-nose with himself.

"Thank you for your time, Sibyll," Dumbledore's voice filtered through the door. "It was a great pleasure to meet you, but --"

"Headmaster." The woman called Sibyll sounded desperate. Severus could almost imagine her clutching at Dumbledore's robes as she spoke. "Please, let me --"

"I'm afraid, Sibyll," Dumbledore cut across her, "that I simply do not have a place for you at Hogwa--"

A sudden silence. Then the woman's voice came again, harsh, hoarse, as though she'd been screaming for a week and her throat was raw.

_"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._"

"'Ere! What d'you think you're doing there?"

The Severus of the memory stepped quickly away from the door. A grumpy-looking old man with a long grey beard was hurrying along the corridor. What little of his face could be seen was tight with angry lines.

"I asked you what you was doing!" he cried, grabbing a fistful of the other Severus's robes and pulling him close. "What do you mean by listening at doors?"

"Turn me loose," the Severus of the memory hissed, but the barman pushed him backwards against the door, which flew open the moment his back hit it. "It was an honest mistake. I came up the wrong stairs, that's all." Beyond the open door Severus caught a glimpse of Dumbledore. The headmaster was on his feet, a startled expression on his face. A woman wearing glasses that made her eyes look as large as dinner plates was blinking stupidly at them, as though the commotion had awakened her from a deep sleep.

"What's the meaning of this, Aberforth?" Dumbledore asked, taking a few steps toward them.

"Sorry, Albus," the barman replied, giving the other Severus another shove. "I caught this bloke 'ere out in the corridor, eavesdroppin'. I'll just show him down to the street, shall I?" Without waiting for a response, he pulled the Severus of the memory forward by his robes, propelling him down the corridor to the steps. Severus trailed along behind them, fascinated though his fists were clenched with indignation at the way he'd been treated.

"Take your hands off me," the Severus of the memory barked, but the barman was relentless. Conversation ended abruptly in the bar as every head turned to watch, and then the other Severus was stumbling down the cobblestone street outside the Hog's Head, trying to keep himself from pitching forward onto his face.

"And stay out, you hear me?" The barman's voice echoed in the dark street as he shook his fist in the air. "I don't ever want t'see you in my place again!"

The scene faded to black, and Severus jerked his head out of the basin. Dumbledore had not moved. He studied Severus with weary eyes as Severus shook the hair out of his face.

"You know what you must do now," Dumbledore said after a long moment of silence. It was a statement, not a question.

Severus looked away. "Yes." His voice was bitter. He knew what the Dark Lord would do once he'd obtained this information. "You realize what this means."

"Of course."

Severus fell heavily into the chair behind him. "Who is it?"

"You need not worry about that now. The families involved have been placed under the Fidelius charm. They are safe."

"Then what's the point --"

"Trust me, Severus. Everything will become clear to you in the passage of time. All you need do is take this information to Voldemort. I will take care of the rest."

* * *

**October, 1993**

_Note to all teachers: _

_This week's staff meeting will take place on Wednesday rather than Monday. Usual time and place. _

_Professor Dumbledore_

* * *

"Longbottom is hopeless," McGonagall sighed.

"You've just now worked that out?" Severus said, scowling. Oh, how he hated these interminable staff meetings. Ninety minutes so far, and no end in sight. His stomach was beginning to growl.

McGonagall ignored him. "Three weeks he's been trying, and he still hasn't managed to transfigure a newt into a candlestick."

"He's been having problems in Charms, too," Flitwick squeaked.

"Well, he's doing just fine in my lessons," Lupin said, very carefully not looking at Severus. Sprout stifled a giggle and Severus tensed in his chair, waiting for her to mention the mortifying matter of Longbottom's boggart. It had been the talk of the school for weeks. Lupin seemed to sense the dangerous turn the discussion was about to take, for he continued speaking quickly. "Of course he's no Harry, but --"

"Spare us," Severus said, nearly spitting in his disgust. "Potter is no better than Longbottom."

"That's not fair, Severus," Lupin replied mildly. "Harry has always been the better wizard of the two of them, ever since they were babies." He looked at Dumbledore. "You remember, Headmaster? You were there with Lily and James and Sirius and me that day when Harry was about a year old. You saw how he made that toy dragon breathe real fire, and burned a big hole in the rug. Lily was frantic, but James --"

"Well, Potter is hardly performing better than Longbottom in _my_ class," Severus said, his temper rising. The very last thing he wanted to hear about just then was some sickening tale about the Potters' familial bliss.

"Perhaps, Minerva," Dumbledore said in a voice of quiet authority that cut the discussion off at once, "Neville would benefit from a bit of personal tutoring."

"I suppose," McGonagall said. "The question is where I'm going to find the time to do it."

"I'm confident you will," Dumbledore said, settling the matter. "Now, does anyone have any further business to discuss before we adjourn?"

A moment of silence passed, and Severus's anticipation rose. Perhaps they would conclude in time for dinner after all. He began to gather up his papers.

"I do, Headmaster," Hagrid rumbled, and Severus dropped his papers and slumped back in his chair with an irritated sigh.

* * *

**June, 1995**

"Severus," said Dumbledore, turning towards him, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready... if you are prepared..."

He'd known it would come to this. It was time to pay for the relative comfort and safety he'd been granted for the past fourteen years. "I am," Severus said, straightening to his full height and locking eyes with Dumbledore.

_Be careful,_ the old man's voice whispered in Severus's mind.

_I will,_ he thought, and Dumbledore gave him the slightest of nods.

"Then good luck," Dumbledore said aloud, as Severus swept out of the room. He hoped Black had enough of a head start that there was no chance of running into the detestable cretin in the corridor. Severus had quite enough to be going on with as it was.

* * *

**July, 1996**

"Dumbledore!"

Severus dropped the empty teacup he'd been about to fill and hurried out of the kitchen. The front door was wide open, and a purple-robed figure was lying prone in the doorway. Wormtail, his hand still grasping the doorknob, looked up at Severus with a wild look in his eyes.

"Severus!" he said in a voice to match his expression. "I --"

Severus plunged his hand into his robes and pulled his wand free before Wormtail could say another word. "_Stupefy!_" Wormtail went down with gratifying speed, cracking the back of his head against the wall as he fell, but Severus would not have cared had Wormtail's skull split in half. He had eyes only for the figure now stirring feebly at his feet.

He knelt at Dumbledore's side. "Headmaster?" he said, grasping Dumbledore's shoulder and rolling him halfway onto his side. "What are you do --" He stopped speaking as Dumbledore's face came into view, and let out a startled gasp. The headmaster's face was scratched, a trickle of bloody foam running from the corner of his lips. The front of his robe was torn and stained with dark blood flowing from a gash running the length of his torso. Severus stared, his eyes widening as they fell on what remained of Dumbledore's right hand.

"My God," he whispered, fighting the urge to recoil. How the old man had managed to Apparate to Spinner's End in this condition, Severus could not imagine. It must have cost him every ounce of strength he possessed. "You stupid old man," Severus murmured under his breath. Didn't Dumbledore realize the risk he'd taken with both of their lives by showing up here?

Dumbledore's eyes fluttered open halfway. "S-Severus..." he whispered through cracked lips, and then he fell silent and still, his bloodshot eyes rolling back in his head.

"_Mobilicorpus!_" Severus shouted, fear making his voice high and thin. Kicking the front door shut, he used his wand to guide Dumbledore's prone body up the stairs to his bedroom and deposited it gently on the bed. It was the beginning of the longest afternoon of his life.

* * *

Hours later, the room was stiflingly hot. A long finger of evening sunlight stabbed through a rip in the window shade, falling across the bed where Dumbledore lay sleeping. Severus sat slumped in a chair next to the bed, soaked in sweat, his head pounding, and watched the shallow rise and fall of Dumbledore's chest.

The headmaster's injured hand was bound tightly in a rag soaked in a restorative potion, but Severus feared it was beyond repair. Some kind of magic, darker than any Severus had ever encountered, had stripped the flesh past the wrist, and would have destroyed the bones next had Severus begun working on it even a few minutes later. At least the wounds on Dumbledore's chest and face had knitted fairly well; chances were good he would escape with only minimal scarring.

Dumbledore's head twitched on the blood-stained pillowcase. "Headmaster?" Severus said, leaning forward in his chair. He nudged Dumbledore's cheek with his knuckles, trying to elicit a response. The wrinkled flesh was burning hot.

"Damn," Severus mumbled under his breath. He leapt to his feet and hurried down the stairs to his lab, nearly falling over the hem of his robes in his haste. Less than a minute later he was back, a small vial of fever-reducing potion clutched in his sweaty palm. Dumbledore's eyes were open now, unfocused but staring toward the open doorway as though anticipating Severus's return.

"No," Dumbledore moaned, trying to turn his head away. Severus ignored him. He grasped the old man firmly by the chin and tipped a few drops of the potion into his mouth. "No," Dumbledore said again after the potion had slipped down his throat. "I didn't want to do it. F-forgive me."

Severus frowned. Dumbledore coughed and swallowed, his breath wheezing in and out of his mouth. His eyes were still fixed unblinkingly on the doorway. "I sent you to him," he said. "To Voldemort." He coughed again, and something icy cold gripped Severus's heart and squeezed until he thought it would burst. "Told you you were the only one I could t-trust. Had to do it. N-necessary."

"Headmaster," Severus whispered, a thrill of dread and anticipation sending a jolt straight to the pit of his stomach. "Tell me why." Dumbledore had always refused to explain his reasoning for choosing Severus to be his spy. This might be his only chance to find out. He sat on the bed and grasped Dumbledore by the shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. "Why was it necessary for me to go to the Dark Lord?"

Dumbledore did not seem to hear him. He stared past Severus at the open door as though Severus did not even exist. "No choice," he said, a violent tremor shaking his body from head to foot. "No choice." He mumbled a few more unintelligible words, and then fell silent.

Severus sighed and sat back in his chair, swiping peevishly at a bead of sweat tickling its way down his temple.

* * *

By the next morning, Dumbledore's fever had broken. He was still ghostly pale, but he was awake and his breathing was easier. Severus was fairly certain Dumbledore had turned the corner, and now his priority was getting the headmaster out of Spinner's End and into Pomfrey's hands.

His legs trembled as he made his way downstairs to his desk. It was an incredible effort to set a quill to parchment, more so to keep his eyes focused enough to scribble something legible. "Take this to Pomfrey at Hogwarts," he croaked, folding the note in half and offering it to his owl. The effort it would take to tie it to the bird's leg would surely kill him. As the owl took off through the open window, Severus noticed a heap of cloth and dirty flesh on the floor by the door. Wormtail. He sighed. Another problem he'd have to deal with.

He plodded back up the steps and fell back into his chair at Dumbledore's bedside. "I've written to Pomfrey," he said, though he doubted Dumbledore could understand what he was saying. "I expect she'll be here soon. I've done all I can for you, she can take care of the rest."

No response. Dumbledore stared at the ceiling, breathing loudly through his mouth. It was like talking to a wax figure.

"And Wormtail will have to be Obliviated," he said, more as a reminder to himself than as a further attempt at conversation.

"Again?" Dumbledore murmured, his eyelids drooping shut.

* * *

**August, 1996**

Severus pounded on the door and threw it open without waiting for a response. Dumbledore looked up from the parchment in his hand with an expression of mild surprise on his face. "Severus," he said, as though having someone come crashing into his office was an everyday occurrence. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"Draco Malfoy has taken the Mark."

Dumbledore's brows disappeared into his hairline as his eyes widened. He studied Severus's face for a moment, then sighed and tossed the parchment onto his desk. "I wish I could say this was unexpected news, but alas, it is not."

Severus took a deep breath. "There's more. Narcissa and Bellatrix came to see me at Spinner's End last week. Draco has apparently been given some sort of task by the Dark Lord."

"Oh, yes? Were you able to find out what it is?"

"No," Severus said. "All I know for certain is Narcissa does not expect him to be able to complete it." Severus sensed that every one of the portraits hanging on the walls was listening, though whenever he glanced at one the occupant was feigning sleep. "I believe, however, that it must have something to do with you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully with his good hand. "Yes," he said. "That would be the most logical assumption, I agree." He sat back in his chair, staring at a point over Severus's head, and Severus could almost hear Dumbledore's mind whirring as it processed this new information. "Well," he said at last, in a jovial tone that set Severus's teeth on edge, "nothing to do about it at the moment other than keep a close eye on him. I shall trust you to take care of that for me, Severus."

"I've no choice," Severus replied bitterly. "Narcissa asked me to make an Unbreakable Vow with her, to watch over Draco and to complete his task, if it should become necessary."

Dumbledore's expression did not change. "I see."

"I had no choice!" Severus said again, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "It would have put my position with the Dark Lord in jeopardy had I shown any signs of weakness in front of Bellatrix."

"I understand that, Severus. This fight has forced many of us to do things we would rather not have done." Dumbledore gave him a tired smile. "You will, of course, fulfill the terms of the Vow. Try to get whatever specifics you can from Draco. In the meantime, I will do whatever I can to ensure his safety. And yours."

There was something about the tone of Dumbledore's voice that made Severus's chest tighten with foreboding. "And what of your safety, Headmaster?" he said quietly.

Dumbledore waved the question away as though the matter of his own fate was of little consequence. "I am not afraid for myself," he said. "Now, on to more pleasant matters." Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as his smile grew wider. "The timing of your visit is excellent, Severus. I was going to contact you this afternoon. I have decided that the time has come to offer you the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

The protest Severus had been about to mount at Dumbledore's lack of concern over the change in the situation flew out of his mind at once. "What?" he said, certain he had heard incorrectly. He narrowed his eyes with suspicion. "Why now, after all these years?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

"Well yes, but --" Severus cut himself off mid-sentence. Dumbledore was doing it again. The old man had always been a master at throwing people off the scent by answering a question with another question. He knew there was no point in questioning Dumbledore's decisions. At best, he would not get a satisfactory answer; at worst, he might lose out on something he'd coveted for well over a decade. Yet he could not stop himself from putting voice to his frustrations. "Just once," he said, his teeth clenched, "I wish you would do me the courtesy of a straight answer to a simple question. You've always said you trusted me --"

"And I do."

"Then tell me why you're offering me this job now!"

Dumbledore spread his hands. "Because I need you there, Severus," he said simply.

Severus stood motionless for a long moment, waiting. Surely that wasn't all Dumbledore had to say on the matter. Dumbledore lowered his hands and met Severus's eye, but remained silent. An age seemed to pass while they studied one another.

"I see," Severus said finally, the words sounding overly stilted and formal to his own ears. "In that case, I suppose I have no choice." He lifted his chin. "I accept, Headmaster. Thank you very much."

* * *

**April, 1997**

_Severus, _

_I have some important information to share with you. Please come to my office this evening at 8:00. _

_Yours, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

Severus watched in silence as Dumbledore pulled a shining strand of memory from his temple and dropped it into the Pensieve. He pursed his lips as Dumbledore sat back with a slight smile and gestured Severus towards the basin. Moments later the bottom dropped out of his stomach as he fell through the darkness, landing on his feet in Dumbledore's office. It looked exactly the same as the office he'd just left, except for the rain streaming down the window behind Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore stood next to Fawkes's perch, stroking the bird's crimson plumage and looking out at the rain as Fawkes's eyelids drooped with sleepy ecstasy. A knock sounded on the office door, startling Fawkes so he squawked and nearly fell off his perch, and Dumbledore gave him a few more gentle pats until he'd righted himself. "Come in!"

The door opened and to Severus's surprise Peter Pettigrew walked in, the hem of his robes dripping. He looked nearly the same as he had when he'd finished at Hogwarts, though his hair was starting to thin on the top of his head. Severus guessed he must have been about twenty or twenty-one when this meeting took place.

"Ah, Peter," Dumbledore said, giving Pettigrew a wide smile. "Thank you for coming. Please, sit down."

Pettigrew sat in the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk, his watery eyes following Dumbledore's every move, and refused Dumbledore's cheerful offer of tea and sweets. Dumbledore sat behind his desk with his hands clasped in his lap, and Severus was startled by the sight of his uninjured hand.

"What did you want to see me about, Headmaster?" Pettigrew said, shifting nervously in his chair.

"I wanted to thank you, Peter, for the work you did in bringing Benjy Fenwick into the Order. His knowledge of defensive spells will be a real asset to us, and James tells me you were almost single-handedly responsible for persuading him to join us."

Pettigrew sat a bit straighter in his chair, beaming.

"Very impressive, Peter. Very impressive." Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes twinkling. "I've been watching you closely for the past several months and I believe I have been remiss in not giving you more responsibility."

"Oh?" Pettigrew's voice cracked slightly as he spoke. "What does that mean, sir?"

"I have something very important I must ask you to do, Peter," Dumbledore said, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him. "I need someone to be a spy for the Order."

Pettigrew's swallow was audible. "A s-spy? In what capacity?"

"I need someone to infiltrate the Death Eaters."

Severus's breath caught. No. It couldn't be possible. Was Dumbledore _insane_?

Pettigrew obviously thought the same thing, for he broke into a nervous grin. "You're joking."

Dumbledore did not respond, but stared hard at Pettigrew until his smile faded. He swallowed again, blinking rapidly. "Me?" he said in a hoarse voice.

"I believe you are perfect for the job, Peter," Dumbledore said calmly.

"No," Pettigrew said, the color draining from his face. "I... I -- what about Sirius? Or Remus? Or --"

"Sirius is not suited for this assignment because his brother is already a Death Eater and Voldemort will know all about Sirius's loyalties. Remus is a werewolf and a half-blood. Voldemort will never trust him for those reasons."

Severus bristled. Dumbledore knew Severus's parentage as well as he knew his own, and that had not stopped him from sending Severus to the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I have given this a great deal of thought, Peter. You are the only one I can trust."

Pettigrew wrung his hands together in his lap. "I don't know if I can do it, sir," he whispered.

"You can. I know you can. I will help you prepare, tell you everything you must say and do. You'll be fine. But you must not tell anyone about this." Dumbledore's severe expression softened into a smile. "Think it over, won't you? I will contact you again in a few days for your answer." He stood up and walked around his desk to lay a hand gently on Pettigrew's shoulder. "I have faith in you, Peter. I know you won't disappoint me."

The scene faded. Severus found himself back in Dumbledore's present-day office, his head reeling as he stumbled backwards and nearly fell. Dumbledore stood and seemed about to try to help him, but Severus held up his hand. "You sent Wormtail to the Dark Lord?" he spat, re-gaining his balance and fixing Dumbledore with his darkest glare.

Dumbledore sat down again slowly, nodding. "I sent him to meet with Lucius Malfoy. Lucius took him to Voldemort a few days later."

Dumbledore's delirious mumbling came back to Severus with gut-wrenching suddenness. He swallowed. "And then you Obliviated him."

Dumbledore nodded again. "I had to remove the memory of our discussion from his mind before he met with Voldemort. He would have learned of Peter's duplicity at once. Lucius is not a Legilimens; he posed no threat on his own."

Severus found he could not look at Dumbledore any longer. He turned around and met the eye of Armando Dippet, and the portrait nodded at him solemnly. "Did you also suggest that Wormtail become the Potters' Secret Keeper?" he said, turning his head to speak over his shoulder.

"No, that was serendipitous," Dumbledore replied. "Sirius decided on his own that would be the best course of action, and he talked James into it. But if he had not done so, I would have."

Severus whirled. "And you let Black rot in Azkaban for all those years, knowing he was not guilty." This seemed the worst of Dumbledore's transgressions. Severus cared nothing at all about the years Black had lost, but it was terrifying to realize how close he himself had come to sharing Black's fate, had Dumbledore's plans only gone in another direction.

"I believed Sirius was guilty of murder after James and Lily died," Dumbledore said. "I had no idea Peter survived Sirius's attempt to kill him."

Severus fought to keep his anger in check. "Didn't you once tell me you told the Ministry Black had been the Potters' Secret Keeper?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Severus," he said, his voice weary. "I told you I _gave evidence_ to the Ministry on the matter. I told the Wizengamot about the discussions in which I'd been involved on the subject before the decision was made, but never stated anything definitive."

Severus gave a mirthless snort. Of course. No one dared question the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore too closely, least of all the Wizengamot. "So you gave the Potters up," Severus said, and for the first time since he'd known Dumbledore, the headmaster's expression grew troubled.

"It was necessary," Dumbledore said softly.

"But _why_?"

"I cannot tell you that now."

"Headmaster --"

"Severus, I know you feel you no longer have reason to trust me, but I must ask that you do so. There is still more you need to know, but the time is not yet right." Dumbledore's good hand trembled as he raked the fingers through his beard. "I regret the Potters' deaths more than I can say, Severus. I regret the deaths of _all_ those in the Order who died thanks to Peter's inside information. And the Longbottoms --"

Severus froze. "Who was the Longbottoms' Secret Keeper, Headmaster?" he said tightly, but he knew the answer before Dumbledore spoke.

"I was."

"And you gave them up to the Lestranges as well?"

"No, of course I didn't," Dumbledore replied, his tone growing impatient. "The day after the Potters died and Voldemort disappeared, Frank told me he wanted the charm lifted. He wanted his family's freedom, and he was certain he and Alice could defend themselves against anyone who might want to harm them. I agreed, reluctantly, to release them. They were Aurors, after all."

Severus clenched his fists so tightly his fingernails cut into this palms. None of this made any sense. Why would Dumbledore do the things he'd described here tonight? He opened his mouth to ask, and then snapped it shut again, knowing Dumbledore would not reveal anything more until he was ready to do so. He realized his heart was pounding, his torso was drenched in cold sweat, and the realization made his knees turn to jelly. He'd never been afraid of Dumbledore before, not like this. The old man suddenly seemed no better than the Dark Lord; worse, because he had betrayed the trust of those he'd seen killed, while the Dark Lord had never been trusted.

"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, "everyone in the Order knew what might happen when they joined."

Severus stared into Dumbledore's eyes. "And who's scheduled to die next, Headmaster? Me?"

Dumbledore looked down at his blackened, twisted hand. Severus stood rooted to the spot for several long, heavy moments, waiting. When Dumbledore did not respond, Severus turned on his heel and stalked out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

**June, 1997**

_Dear Severus, _

_This is yours. I have kept it from you for a very long time, for your own safety, and for the safety of us all. When last we spoke, you asked me why I had done the things I did. I hope this will provide the answers you seek. _

_Yours, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

Severus sat behind his desk and stared at the small bottle for a long time, rolling it in his fingers and watching the silvery memory swirl around the inside. He didn't want to open it. He hadn't spoken to Dumbledore about anything but school-related matters since the disastrous interview months before; to receive this message now, out of the blue, struck him as particularly ominous.

What would happen, he wondered, if he refused to view the memory? Surely it would have some damaging -- perhaps irreparable -- consequences for Dumbledore's grand scheme. It would serve the old man right. All of his secret plotting, his inability to trust any of them with any information until it was too late, his insistence on blind faith even if it meant trotting along faithfully to one's own death... Insanity. All of it. He was angry with Dumbledore for treating them all like puppets on a string, and furious with himself for playing along with it for so many years. Yes, it would serve Dumbledore right if Severus simply made the bottle vanish.

Of course, doing so might very well mean he would live out the rest of his life under the Dark Lord's rule. Assuming he survived the coming war. And that, simply put, would not be a life worth living.

With an angry grunt, Severus crushed Dumbledore's note in his fist and threw it into the fire. After making sure it had been reduced to ashes, he pulled his paperweight closer and transfigured it into a Pensieve.

* * *

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

The fire had burned to a bed of glowing embers before Severus moved again. He'd been staring at it for hours, brooding over the meaning of the lost memory, when a sudden pounding at his office door interrupted his thoughts. Startled, he leapt to his feet and hurried toward the door, but it burst open before he could reach it.

"Severus!" Flitwick's face was crimson, and he was panting so hard Severus could barely understand what he was trying to say. "Death Eaters! In the Astronomy Tower! Hurry, Severus!"

Severus felt his blood run to ice, and his mind snapped into sharp focus. _Draco._ Somehow, the boy had accomplished part of his task after all. If the other members of the Order discovered Draco was Marked, his life would be in as much danger as the other Death Eaters' lives, and Severus had taken a Vow to protect him.

His wand was in his hand before he'd even realized he'd drawn it, and with a quick wave of it in Flitwick's direction the tiny Charms master collapsed to the floor with a thud. That was one out of the way, at least. Heart pounding, Severus took off at a sprint through the open door.

* * *

The Dark Mark hanging in the sky high above the Astronomy Tower cast a sickly, greenish glow on the ramparts as Severus burst through the door. His stomach twisted into a tight knot as he glanced quickly around at the scene before him: Dumbledore slumped against the far wall; Draco with his wand in his hand; the three Death Eaters in a semi-circle a few yards in front of the headmaster, their faces gaunt and haunted in the shadows; and Greyback, struggling to stand.

"We've got a problem, Snape," Amycus said, his wand trained on Dumbledore's heart. "The boy doesn't seem able -- "

"Severus..." Dumbledore said softly, and Severus forced himself to meet the old man's eyes.

Time came to an abrupt halt as Dumbledore's voice drifted through Severus's mind. _It's over for me, Severus. You must fulfill your Vow to Narcissa._

Severus's heart seized as he realized the full import of what Dumbledore was telling him to do. _I can't!_ his thoughts screamed, though he knew at once it was the only course of action open to him.

_You must. Everything I've done has been leading to this moment. You must continue your work for the Order from within Voldemort's camp. Don't worry about me. I am not afraid for myself. Only for you. And for Harry._

Severus quashed the sudden flare of resentment that swelled in his chest. Potter. Always Potter. _Why did you send Wormtail to Voldemort?_ he thought desperately, knowing this was his last chance to learn the truth. _Why did you sacrifice the Potters if they meant so very much to you?_

_You saw the bit of that memory I kept from you_. The words of the prophecy swam unbidden through Severus's mind. _I had to ensure Harry was the one marked by Voldemort. I knew from the time he was an infant he was the only one with the strength to defeat him. Neville would have never stood a chance._

The truth of this statement hit Severus with the force of a rampaging chimaera. Now he understood why Dumbledore thought his actions had been necessary, even... noble. He'd worked tirelessly for years to stack the odds in the Order's favor. In Potter's favor. But Potter would never be able to do it on his own. It was Severus's turn to get to work now.

He could hear the Death Eaters shifting impatiently on the stones behind him, and knew his time had run out. There was so much he wanted to say to Dumbledore now he knew the full truth, so many questions he wanted to ask. But it was too late. A great weight seemed to settle on his shoulders as he realized the impact his next terrible act would have on his future. On everyone's future. Dumbledore may have bought him a bit more time, but he was still going to be a sacrifice in the old man's war.

"Severus... please..." Dumbledore said aloud, his eyes still locked on Severus's.

_I hate you,_ Severus thought, and he could feel the emotion twisting his face into a horrible mask.

_Forgive me, Severus._ Dumbledore's eyes grew suddenly bright in the greenish light.

_Never,_ Severus thought, and he slowly raised his wand.


End file.
